


The Process of a Friendship

by Hopedreamloveinspire



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopedreamloveinspire/pseuds/Hopedreamloveinspire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The name John is not the guy's actual name I used it because that is what some people refer to prostitutes "clients". I am not a prostitute but I used this because if a guy is paying a prostitute all he cares about is the sex not the person, usually.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Process of a Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> The name John is not the guy's actual name I used it because that is what some people refer to prostitutes "clients". I am not a prostitute but I used this because if a guy is paying a prostitute all he cares about is the sex not the person, usually.

When I was in ninth grade I knew a boy named John.

He entered my life fast,

with a passion for art as strong as my passion for him.

He was a lovely boy with long hair, and wore coats as if it was always winter.

His eyes were the best part, alive and inviting

and the color of a never ending ocean.

 

When we were in eleventh grade he started to change.

He no longer wore winter coats for he had exchanged them for a mask.

He tried to change himself for the better,

for me it was for the worse,

Yet still I had the same amount of passion for him.

 

Later that year his eyes had frozen over like the arctic,

no longer alive and inviting.

His long hair had disappeared and a mohawk sat on the top of his head.

His mask was no longer a mask,

it was him.

He had acted so long even he started to believe it.

 

In twelfth grade I could no longer say I knew a boy named John.

For he had gotten up and moved away.

But even before he moved away I didn’t know him anymore.

He had quit talking to me because he was now better.

As if he had anything wrong with him to begin with.

He no longer had a passion for art.

His eyes had become even more icy

if that was even possible.

Instead of an ocean,

they now reminded me of permafrost.

 

His precious,

precious eyes,

which will always be my favorite,

had gotten hard.

Especially when he talked to me.

 

Yet my passion for this long haired blue eyed boy runs deep,

deeper than the ocean.

Longer than the great rivers.

Both in which remind me of him,

along with any song I ever hear.

He may have changed,

he may no longer be John.

But I will always love him.

I will always love him,

even though he exited my life as fast as he entered.


End file.
